


Forget All Our Manners

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Overstimulation, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 09:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13679025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: His eyes are lost and needy, he's in my space, in my library, the only place the two of us exist.What choice do I have but to claim him?





	Forget All Our Manners

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, Rinch fandom! michaelssw0rd linked me to [Maroon 5's Lips on You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DVn9Kg6dZAw). I listened to it far too much, having OTP feels and eventually writing this. Title is from the lyrics.

I am about to walk out of the library when John says, "Wait." The word is accompanied by a restraining hand on my arm. I'd meant to simply brush past him. We are standing by the desk and the glass board. I find myself trapped between them and John's tall frame.

It's not often that I feel John's sheer physical presence aimed in my direction. Through computers, I watch him take down threats without blinking, but John usually keeps himself compact around me, non-threatening. Apart from when he cocks his guns, but that's just showing off.

I take a step back and John removes his hand. "Sorry." John grimaces. He ducks his head, and his middle finger traces the creases in the center of his forehead, one of the nervous gestures he only makes when he's truly stressed. "I'm, uh..."

"What is it? What are we waiting for?" I ask, stupidly.

John brightens at that, lifting his head. "Yeah. Why are we?"

I still don't twig, until John puts both hands on my shoulders and rushes in. It's a reckless, clumsy smack of a kiss. When John pulls back, I gasp "Oh!" and my lips stay that way for a long, stunned moment.

It's not as though I haven't had wet dreams involving John. I'm only human, after all. We spend 95% of our time working together, and we have no other emotional outlets - it's normal to assign romantic connotations to the most likely candidate. Especially when you've saved each other's lives multiple times.

I blink, closing my gaping mouth and meeting John's eyes. He looks - torn. Between fondness and pain, between going blank and letting himself live again. His eyes are lost and needy, he's in my space, in my _library_ , the only place the two of us exist.   

What choice do I have but to claim him?

My hands come up to make fists in John's shirtfront. I'm trying to remember which of the dreams was my favorite, and what on earth I managed to say in them. I always managed something clever in dreams, something that made my ideal self seem wise and appealing. The only word I can access at this precise point is "John."

It comes out as a sort of breathy sigh. I blush at the sound of it. A shiver goes up and down John's spine. John has endless strength and yet I'm the one making him quake.

His shirt is pulled taut across his chest, collar wide open as usual, a perennial distraction. I give in to instinct and finally press my lips to the tempting skin, eliciting a throaty groan. John tilts his head back and to one side, giving me room to work, and I do. I nip at him, biting my own lips, undoing his buttons one by one. I'm starting to tug his shirt out of his pants when John's large hands settle on my ass, squeezing, startling me. I forget my balance and lean against him, pressing myself against his thigh, suddenly aware that I'm already erect. It makes this seem very real. Not a fantasy. Something we'll have to navigate tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that.

John kisses my hair. "Do you keep a bed in this place?"

I laugh. "How did you guess?"

"You've stopped sleeping at the desk, you're here when I arrive...."

I trace my fingertips along his collarbone. "I told you before, I breach the space-time continuum."

"Uh-huh," he says, sceptical where once he was confused. He's grown used to my sense of humor. "This bed. Can I see it?"

"You can do more than see it." I almost cringe at myself, but then I'm remembering one of the dreams, spread out on my back, arching my hips into John's white hot mouth. I catch blindly at John's hand and turn, ready to lead him there, and almost trip over the wheels of the glass board, perilously close to computer wires.

"Careful." John helps me stay upright. "Watch where you step."

It's difficult to keep my eyes on my feet when John is beside me, half-naked, his shirt flapping open. I squeeze his hand tightly as I walk him down the left corridor, then right, then right again. Up a short flight of stairs and we're in my tiny makeshift bedroom. It's stuffy and there are no windows. It used to be just a store room, before I installed an air vent. I tell John all of this very quickly. He stops my nervous rambling with another kiss. It's much better this time. Not taken aback, I get to reciprocate, sink into him, slide my tongue over his.

I'm sweating when John removes my vest and shirt. We kick off our shoes and pants and fall onto the bed, John cradling the back of my neck as though he's worried it'll snap. "You don't need to be gentle," I tell him, relocating his hand where I want it, inside my shorts.

John giggles, an odd, high-pitched little thing.

I take off my glasses and glare at him. "What?"

"You're so pushy," he chuckles, then gives me a squeeze which has me panting for breath, rocking into his grip.

When I manage to open my eyes again, I realize he's gazing up at me above him, this lopsided grin on his face. I lean down to kiss the groove in his cheek and his eyelashes flutter closed. I never saw his face in my dreams. Somehow I just knew it was him, and it didn't feel strange. That should have told me something, but more than once in my life I've made a habit of ignoring inconvenient data. Not anymore.

"Turn onto your side," I whisper in his ear, realizing as I do that he still has his earpiece in. I pluck it out and set it on the pile of books on the bedside table. After I climb off of him, he does as I say. He returns his hand to my waistband as soon as he can, reluctant to stop touching me. I do likewise, pulling down his clingy shorts to mid-thigh, fascinated by the weight of him in my palm.

John wraps an arm around me, bringing us even closer together, broad sweeps of his free hand down the length of my back. I kiss his shoulder, the side of his throat. He cries out softly when my thumb slides over his slit. "Har-" Not quite getting my name out in one breath. I kiss him again for that. While we kiss, John takes control, coordinating it so that both our hands are entangled around our cocks, slick with pre-ejaculate.

His smooth, firm skin, capable fingers and responsive, insistent mouth are too much for me combined. "Sorry," I gasp, clumsy, our chins bumping. I've let go too soon, but John says nothing of it. The movement of his hand speeds up. All I hear for a moment is the sound of it, and the hitch in his breathing when he follows me to completion. I watch his face greedily. I've seen him pallid and sweaty, bleeding out. I've seen him relieved, or cheeky, or annoyed, determined, or stoic. I've never seen him ecstatic, and now that I know how, I want to make him look like that as often as I can.

I want to act out some of the fantasies I've had simmering in the back of my subconscious. John moaning my name would be an excellent place to start.

When I move away, John gives a soft grunt, a plaintive protest, reaching out with sticky fingers, on the verge of sitting up. I pin his wrist down in the blankets.

"Lie back. I'm not done with you yet."

I kneel beside him, wobbling a little until I find my balance, one hand clutching his thigh, the other at the base of his cock. I sense his torso shift when I lap at him, licking away some of the spilled fluid. His heels dig into the mattress, fighting the urge to thrust into my mouth. John really ought to be better than that at keeping still, and I tell him as much. I get a sharp, shaky breath in answer, and some of the tension drains out of his legs.

"Good man." Closing my lips around the length is trickier than I'd imagined, but it feels only too natural to suck, my tongue curling around the underside, pressing him against the roof of my mouth. Blood rushes back into the shaft. John is fully hard again alarmingly quickly. I lose track of my breathing, cough and withdraw, only to try again a few seconds later, determined but more cautious.

I take less of him in at a time and speed up, and just when I think I've reached the limit of my capabilities, John gives a cry of "Finch!" and comes a second time. I swallow then take a breather, stroking his leg, but I still need more. I place a random stream of kisses over his groin, and start to drag my lips over him again, but at that point he squirms away. "Fuck, I can't...it's too much." I lean back and quirk a challenging eyebrow at him. I don't want to stop. I can't resist being just a little cruel. Rubbing my thumb around the head of his cock forces a warning growl of _"Harold..."_ I've heard my full name now, so reluctantly I let go.

He offers an apologetic smile. "Can we make out some more?" He asks, reaching for me. I return to his arms easily.

Later, our heads close on the pillow, I ask him something I'm curious about. "John. How long?"

John thinks about this, touching his fingers to kiss-swollen lips. "Since you saved me."

I smile at this non-answer. It's exactly the sort of deflection I might make. "Which time?"

John shakes his head. "I don't know. All of them."

I kiss him again. That's good enough for me.

**Author's Note:**

> As a sidenote, there's another lyric from the song that needs to be turned into a different fic:
> 
> _turn out the lights and you can be my private dancer_
> 
> Season 5 undercover stripper!Reese feels, anyone?


End file.
